he would rather interview a dog
Things around here are all things dog what with Loki having his surgery and everything. Which has, basically, dog on my mind and that is about all on my mind. The convenient thing is though I have been writing for years. And when I do not have a thought in my head I have all these files I can just whip open and voil‡, a thought! (I am crafty like that.) This is one from the Utah days. In honor of the occassion, about a dog. Well sort of about a dog. From the files of "We Kill Our Own":
HE WOULD RATHER INTERVIEW A DOG
Okay, somehow or other I got stuck with the nice gene. I do not know how it happened. Nobody else in my family seems to have gotten it. But I did. And now I just seem to be stuck with it. See, today I came home and found a message on my answering machine from a feature writer at The Salt Lake Tribune. I would not normally be annoyed by a message from the The Salt Lake Tribune. It is a big paper, it is local, and I have been trying to break into that particular market for, oh, about a week or so, so it could have been good news -- if this call had been from an editor. But it was not from an editor. It was from a feature writer. And the message said he wanted to talk to me about my dog Mr. Butts.
The thing is, I don't have a dog named Mr. Butts. I had queried the editor at the Trib about writing a story about Mr. Butts. But Mr. Butts belongs to someone else.
Mr. Butts, by the way, is a twelve year old Staffordshire Terrier who just made his film debut in Plan 10 From Outer Space and is very cute in a space suit. I thought it was a fun story so I queried the Trib. As a writer. Sending in a query about a story I want to write. Professionally. Myself.
But maybe this writer calling doesn't know that. If he did know that, this would be a really rude phone call to make to a fellow journalist. So --
I give him the benefit of the doubt. I call him back and explain there's been a misunderstanding, Mr. Butts is not my dog and I am a professional writer proposing a story to his editor, not a kindly citizen writing letters to newspapers about my dog. And then --
There is a long pause.
And then --
This fellow writer says he has my letter right there. I believe him, too, I can hear paper that sounds suspisciously like my letter rustling in the background. Which is when I begin to be annoyed. See, that letter is obviously a story pitch to an editor from a writer with professional credits.
But (argh!) I am nice anyway. I say it is a shame this misunderstanding occurred, blah blah, and as long as I have him on the phone, is his editor interested in the story since I am interested in writing the story and selling it to his publication.
He says no. Emphatically not. (Probably he means no emphatically not from me, since he is trying to steal my story and sell it to his editor.)
Then he explains he is writing about local people breaking into show business and is talking to actors, producers, directors, sound technicians, set designers. All the people who work on films and are trying to make their mark in the entertainment industry -- and all local folk.
This is interesting to me because in addition to writing non-fiction articles to put bread on the table I happen to be a struggling screenwriter who just so happens to be trying to make her mark in the entertainment industry -- and hey I am local folk. So I casually ask, "Are you doing screenwriters?"
He says no. Emphatically not.
Now I am not "beginning to be annoyed." I am Seriously Annoyed. This guy would rather interview a dog than a fellow writer? (I have not told him I am a screenwriter, but he might know, I have been covered a couple times by local press. But that would be pretty awful, wouldn't it? If he knew who I was and we were having this phone conversation?)
But. (Shoot me now.) I. Am. Nice. Anyway. (It is awful, I can not help it, it kicks in and will not turn off and there I am being polite to a guy who is insulting me in a huge way.) I say thanks for the call, if he is not interested in screenwriters I cannot help him, nice chatting, good luck --
Which is when he tells me, Oh but I can help him. I can give him the name and phone number of Mr. Butts' owner. (Um. Right. I could have a V-8 too, but you do not see tomato stains on my collar.)
And I am still nice! Okay, it is taking on Southern Belle overtones. (It is a good thing I spent time in the South. Southern Belle nice in the face of appalling is when you are so nice someone knows you hate them but cannot call you on it because nothing you say is mean.) I explain I am awful sorry, I will be pitching this story to other editors at other publications and can not give him my story and source. I say good-bye. I hang up.
By now I am beyond extremely annoyed. But I was nice anyway? It has got to be that blasted gene. I should have told him off for unethical behavior and then I should have fired off a letter to his editor explaining the idiosyncratic courtesies of journalism. I mean, look, if you want to steal another writer's story, well you may go behind her back, dig up her sources and publish it under your by-line. That is done and while it is evil, it is at least accepted "evil." But under no circumstances may one journalist call up another and request the first writer's sources when stealing a story. It simply is not done. Ever. At least not until today.
That is the thought for the day. That is a totally true story too. In addition to us screenwriters rewriting the bejeezus out of each other in the name of the almighty "screen credit" journalists (allegedly "fellow writers") hate us and will dig us a shallow grave any day of the week. "Let me think, the screenwriter or the dog? Let's interview the dog!" And their editors hate us too. I mean what was that? "Here is another writer's query go steal the story"? That is so not funny I have considered pulling screen credits off queries because unless I am querying about subjects show business, editors in general hold a screen credit against you when considering you for assignment. Which is going to be totally not good if we go on strike and I run out of cash and can't sell prose because everyone hates screenwriters. . . .
But that is a bridge for another day.
Love and Kisses,
Your Dog on Her Mind Adams Girl
PS: Design changes around here are done unless I go unsane and start using Flash (which will only happen if a computer genius I know figures out why my Flash hating computer is turning Flash instances into Quick Time instances to hide them from Flash) so stay buckled and keep both hands inside the vehicle at all times just to be sure.
PPS: Loki The Dog is out of surgery and home and doing well. Yay!
PPPS: The Mr. Butts story did sell to Dog Fancy. They are real nice at Dog Fancy and professional and do not hand your queries to other writers and they pay better than any dumb old newspaper too and on time. Yay!
*see mr. butts in his rocket pack
